Esquire Magazine Skull and Bones Article
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Ron Rosenbaum's 1977 Esquire Magazine Skull and Bones Article http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/sociopolitica/esp_sociopol_skullbone... by Ron Rosenbaum Esquire Magazine September, 1977 from PrisonPlanet Website Esquire Magazine September, 1977 Take a look at the hulking sepulcher over there. Small wonder they call it a tomb. It’s the citadel of Skull and Bones , the most powerful of all secret societies in the strange Yale secret-society system. For nearly a century and a half, Skull and Bones has been the most influential secret society in the nation, and now it is one of the last. In an age in which it seems that all that could possibly be concealed about anything and anybody has been revealed, those blank tombstone walls could be holding the last secrets left in America. You could ask Averell Harriman whether there’s really a sarcophagus in the basement and whether he and young Henry Stimson and young Henry Luce (Time magazine) lay down naked in the coffin and spilled the secrets of their adolescent sex life to 14 fellow Bonesmen. You could ask Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart if there came a time in the year 1937 when he dressed up in a skeleton suit and howled wildly at an initiate in a red-velvet room inside the tomb. You could ask McGeorge Bundy if he wrestled naked in a mud pie as part of his initiation and how it compared with a later quagmire into which he so eagerly plunged. You could ask Bill Bundy or William F. Buckley, both of who went into the CIA after leaving Bones - or George Bush , who ran the CIA / President - whether their Skull and Bones experience was useful training for the clandestine trade. (“Spook,” the Yale slang for spy .) You could ask J. Richardson Dilworth , the Bonesman who now manages the Rockefeller fortune, just how wealthy the Bones society is and whether it’s true that each new initiate gets a no-strings gift of fifteen thousand dollars cash and guaranteed financial security for life. You could ask... but I think you get the idea. The lending lights of the Eastern establishment - in old-line investment banks (Brown Brothers Harriman pays Bone’s tax bill), in a blue-blood law firms (Simpson Thacher & Bartlett, for one), and particularly in the highest councils of the foreign-policy establishment - the people who have shaped America’s national character since it ceased being an undergraduate power, had their undergraduate character shaped in that crypt over there. Bonesman Henry Stimson , Secretary of War under F.D.R., a man at the heart of the heart of the American ruling class, called his experience in the tomb the most profound one in his entire education. But none of them will tell you a thing about it. They’ve sworn an oath never to reveal what goes on inside and they’re legendary for the lengths to which they’ll go to avoid prying interrogation. The mere mention of the words “skull and bones” in the presence of a true-blue Bonesman, such as Blackford Oakes, the fictional hero of Bill Buckley’s spy thriller, ‘Saving the Queen’, will cause him to “dutifully leave the room, as tradition prescribed.” 1 of 7 5/6/2012 12:59 AM Ron Rosenbaum's 1977 Esquire Magazine Skull and Bones Article http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/sociopolitica/esp_sociopol_skullbone... I can trace my personal fascination with the mysterious goings-on in the sepulcher across the street to a spooky scene I witnessed on its shadowy steps late one April night eleven years ago. I was then a sophomore at Yale, living in Jonathan Edwards, the residential college (anglophile Yale name for dorm) built next to the Bones tomb. It was part of Jonathan Edwards folklore that on a April evening following “tap night” at Bones, if one could climb to the tower of Weir Hall, the odd castle that overlooks the Bones courtyard, one could hear strange cries and moans coming from the bowels of the tomb as the fifteen newly “tapped” members were put through what sounded like a harrowing ordeal. Returning alone to my room late at night, I would always cross the street rather than walk the sidewalk that passed right in front of Bones. Even at that safe distance, something about it made my skin crawl. But that night in April I wasn’t alone; a classmate and I were coming back from an all-night diner at about two in the morning. At the time, I knew little about the mysteries of Bones or any of the other huge windowless secret-society tombs that dominated with dark authority certain key-corners of the campus. They were nothing like conventional fraternities. No one lived in the tombs. Instead, every Thursday and Sunday night the best and the brightest on campus, the fifteen seniors in Skull and Bones and in the Scroll and Key , Book and Snake , Wolf’s Head , Berzelius , in all the seven secret societies, disappeared into their respective tombs and spent hours doing something - something they were sworn to secrecy about. And Bones, it was said was the most ritualistic and secretive of all. Even the very door to the Bones tomb, that huge triple-padlocked iron door, was never permitted to open in the presence of an outsider. All this was floating through my impressionable sophomore mind that night as my friend Mike and I approached the stone pylons guarding the entrance to Bones. Suddenly we froze at the sight of a strange thing lying on the steps. There in the gloom of the doorway on the top step was a long white object that looked like the thighbone of a large mammal. I remained frozen. Mike was more adventuresome: he walked right up to the steps and picked up the bone. I wanted to get out of there fast; I was certain we were being spied upon from a concealed window. Mike couldn’t decide what to do with the bone. He went up to the door and began examining the array of padlocks. Suddenly a bolt shot. The massive door began to swing open and something reached out at him from within. He grasped, terrified, and jumped back, but not before something clutched the bone, yanked it out of his hand and back into the darkness within. The door slammed shut with a clang that rang in our ears as we ran away. Recollected in tranquility, the dreamlike gothic moment seems to me an emblem of the strangeness I felt at being at Yale, at being given a brief glimpse of the mysterious workings of the inner temples of privilege but feeling emphatically shut out of the secret ceremonies within. I always felt irrelevant to the real purpose of the institution, which was from its missionary beginnings devoted to converting the idle progeny of the ruling class into morally serious leaders of the establishment. It is frequently in the tombs that conversions take place. NOVEMBER, 1976: SECURITY MEASURES It’s night and we’re back in front of the tomb, Mike and I, reinforced by nine years in the outside world, two skeptical women friends and a big dinner at Mory’s. And yet once again there is an odd, chilling encounter. We’re re-creating that first spooky moment. I’m standing in front of the stone pylons and Mike has walked up to stand against the door so we can estimate its height by his. 2 of 7 5/6/2012 12:59 AM Ron Rosenbaum's 1977 Esquire Magazine Skull and Bones Article http://www.bibliotecapleyades.net/sociopolitica/esp_sociopol_skullbone... Then we notice we’re being watched. A small red foreign car has pulled up on the sidewalk a few yards away from us. The driver has been watching us for some time. Then he gets out. He’s a tall, athletic looking guy, fairly young. He shuts the card door behind him and stands leaning against it, continuing to observe us. We try to act oblivious, continuing to sketch and measure. The guy finally walks over to us, “You seen Miles?” he asks. We look at each other. Could he think we’re actually Bones alumni, or is he testing us? Could “You seen Miles?” be some sort of password? “No,” we reply. “Haven’t seen Miles.” He nods and remains there. We decide we’ve done enough sketching and measuring and stroll off. “Look!” one of the women says as she turns and points back. “He just ran down the side steps to check the basement-door locks. He probably thought he caught us planning a break-in.” I found the episode intriguing. What it said to me was that Bones still cared about the security of its secrets. Trying to find out what goes on inside could be a challenge. And so it was that I set out this April to see just how secure those last secrets are. It was a task I took on not out of malice or sour grapes. I was not tapped for a secret society so I’m open to the latter charge, but I plead guilty only to the voyeurism of a mystery lover. I’d been working on a novel, a psychological thriller of sorts that involved the rites of Bones, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time in New Haven during the week of tap night and initiation night, poking around and asking questions. You could call it espionage if you were so inclined, but I tried to play the game in a gentlemanly fashion: I would not directly ask a Bonesman to violate his sacred oath of secrecy.